


Letters

by jellijeans



Category: Bravely Default (Video Game) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, HUGE SPOILERS, also like. all the relationships are background, for both bravely default and bravely second
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 04:25:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellijeans/pseuds/jellijeans
Summary: Ringabel sends letters that will never arrive.He pours his heart and soul onto letters and words and apologies that will never be read, apologies to his friends and to even Karl and Egil and especially Edea.(or, the hope in second chances, in connections beyond worlds and the faith that no matter what, love will find a way)





	1. in search for you

Ringabel sends letters that will never arrive.

 

He pours his heart and soul onto letters and words and apologies that will never be read, apologies to his friends and to even Karl and Egil and especially Edea.

The ones to Edea are often stained and warped with tears, and the ink is often smeared or scratched out or even rubbed raw until the paper is flaking in a desperate attempt to erase the ninth “I’m sorry” he’s written in that sentence. In his home with the Dimensional Bureau, he hasn’t seen Edea or Tiz once; he’s not even seen Agnès since her taking of the popehood. Sure, there are endless Agnèses in endless universes, but none of them are  _ his _ Agnès, which makes every brief meeting with the Wind-Vestal-turned-Pope so much more bittersweet. None of them are quite so kind or gentle, none of them are as in love with Tiz, none of them even know of his existence except for her.

That’s the same with Tiz as well, he knows, as no other happy-go-lucky and tenderhearted but protective Norende boy would burst into a wide smile at the sight of the person that no other Norende boy had come to recognize as an older brother. He also knows that the one Norende boy currently “sleeps” in an Eternian vivipod, slowly wasting away while his one and only beloved Edea and Tiz’s own one and only beloved Agnès simply watch and can do nothing but pray to the crystals that Tiz will wake up, and hoping that Eternia’s medical system will advance enough to awaken the boy that no longer has anything to awaken.

And, of course, there is Edea. The girl he was madly in puppy-love with as Alternis, and then developed a real, adult love for as Ringabel, where he developed the most precious, most sacred love for only one most precious, most sacred Edea, stuck in the same world with the other two Heroes of Light he left behind. He cannot bring himself to seduce or even flirt with any other women, simply because he feels the deep twists of regret and betrayal of the girl worlds away. The girl he has not seen in so long, and could leave nothing but D’s Journal for when he left. He wonders if she has ascended the throne by now, or even made it to Captain of the Ducal Guard yet. He’s certain she’s made it that far, at least—her skill with the sword was virtually unmatched by the time they had parted after the first journey.

Sweet, sweet Edea. The only candied thing he had ever learned to love.

 

And so, as an apology to Edea, to Tiz, to Agnès, to  _ everyone _ —he writes letter after letter, apology after apology, “I love you” after “I love you” and leaves them at the shore of the Dimensional Bureau, knowing that they will simply be swept away and lost before they would even ever be theoretically delivered—interaction outside of the Bureau is forbidden, anyway, and any interaction must be under the most poolproof of aliases. In his case, he parades around as Alternis Dim, who is him but not him and certainly not loved by the three that he loves most anywhere close to the love that they have for Ringabel. As Dimensional Officers, they are unique identities—souls that have accidentally become someone else, usually by the unintentional transversal of worlds or some other obscure method. While they may look the same, they are unique in the universe—or multiverse, Ringabel thinks—there are infinite Alternis Dims, but only one Ringabel.

Ringabel, and all other Dimensional Officers, are not supposed to exist.

 

In reality, there are likely far more unique identities that exist outside of the Bureau, although the President has classified these unregistered existences as a problem, since they have the potential to disrupt the natural harmony between worlds when their parallel existences start to collide. Ringabel himself was only caught intentionally transversing worlds after another adventure, following a failed attempt to return back to the one Caldisla inn that he had come to truly know as “home”. He had been informed of his identity as a unique existence, and how, despite his status as a Hero of Light, his continued unmonitored existence could result in serious problems, especially involving anything that could potentially affect the flow of the world. Therefore, if he wanted to continue serving as a “hero”, the only choice would be to join the Dimensional Bureau. While it would not allow him to return to his previous life—that was far more complicated, the President explained, and perhaps not an option for Ringabel at the present time—serving as a Dimensional Officer would at least al Ringabel to protect his friends and his friends’ world. Besides, if he was sent to eliminate a presence on their world, while he may not be able to interact with them as himself, he would still be able to interact with them nonetheless, as long as he didn’t let his true identity spill.

There were grave consequences for that, Ringabel was warned, and certainly none that he ever wanted to find out.

Therefore, it is much to his chagrin and joy when he learns he will be parading as Alternis Dim in the very world with the three people held most dear to his heart.

The three of them are complicated in terms of what Ringabel likes to refer to as dimensionality; as Heroes of Light, the three that saved  _ every _ world, there are clear differences between the existences of themselves in alternate worlds and the existence of the Heroes of Light versions of themselves, but the differences aren’t enough for them to be classified as threats. However, if the three of them were ever to find out about the Dimensional Bureau and the Bureau found out about it, they would be forced into becoming Dimensional Officers—that is, unless Ringabel reveals himself and the existence of the Dimensional Bureau to them in a pocket of spacetime created and watched over by an entity, in which case the Bureau would not be able to moderate Ringabel without being there in person, and that would be far too suspicious, especially if Ringabel’s disguise was to be the infamously solitary and mysterious Alternis Dim. If he were just able to find a spot like that...

Ringabel pauses and shakes his head.

After all, that would make leaving so much more painful.

 

Although he works with people of all genders in the Bureau—even people who look like Edea—he hasn’t fallen for or even flirted with any of them. The most casanova thing he’s done in his entire time at the Bureau is simply purchase a drink for the one who looks like Agnès, where they sat silently next to each other and somberly sipped at red wine that that tasted so much like the wine at Karl’s inn but not enough to be of any comfort, doing nothing—not even talking—in a silence comfortable only in a melancholic kind of way.

 

He won’t be deployed for a while yet, but the fact that he’s been assigned to a mission at all means he’s relieved of his general rounds around the Bureau headquarters, so he takes his extra time to sit down and write a few deep, meaningful letters to his friends, his three fellow Heroes of Light who have no idea where he’s gone, only that he  _ has _ gone, and nothing to remember him by except D’s Journal and the teachings of, well...the teachings of everything. The four of them are more or less living legends, so it would be impossible for them not to have heard at least a peep about certainly not what he’s doing now, but at least what he did with them back then. They at least have some reminders of his existence, and he’s comforted by that—but at the same time, he doesn’t want to bother them with the shadow of his existence, so he wonders if them not forgetting about him is perhaps truly any good at all.

 

Perhaps they think he’s dead.

 

This idea leaves a sinking feeling in Ringabel’s stomach and a bitter taste in his mouth. If Tiz ever does wake up, he’ll assume he’ll never see his “older brother” again, and poor Agnès likely has no one to confide in like she did to him, and then there’ll be lovely, darling, heartbroken Edea...

 

Ringabel’s throat tightens, and he decides to start writing letters that he will really, truly deliver. Perhaps he will deliver them as Alternis Dim instead of himself, but he will find a way.

He decides to start off by writing one to Tiz.


	2. tiz, my good man

_ Dear Tiz, my dear boy, _

 

Ringabel starts off the letter the only way he would find it acceptable to contact someone akin to a long-separated younger brother; it would be an understatement to say he feels guilty for abandoning the younger boy, even if it was to protect another version of him and his friends, and to lay flowers on their graves in another world. The only thing he’s heard about the tenderhearted Norende boy is that he’s fallen into a deep slumber, and that it seemed very unlikely he would ever awaken. He writes this into the letter, inwardly praying that the poor fellow has woken up by the time the letter somehow gets delivered to him, one way or another. He asks a question about how he and Agnès are doing—the two of them, he recalls, were very in love, although both were too nervous to admit it—and writes that he hopes they have found happiness with each other by now. He also throws in a quick question about how the reconstruction of Norende is going, and whether or not Tiz ever decided to claim Owen’s blade and become the knight captain of Caldisla, or whether or not he just returned to being a shepherd, or perhaps even if he went on another adventure—although Ringabel hopes Luxendarc hasn’t been thrusted into calamity again that quickly.

 

The Dimensional Officer bites his lip.

 

_ I’m sorry _ .

 

He can feel the tears stinging at his eyes as he scribbles out endless apologies for leaving, for not being there to keep him awake, for not leaving behind anything of himself except an old journal and fading memories. He apologies even for not being there for the younger boy’s birthdays, even—celebrating something so bittersweet might have been a little less painful for Agnès and Edea had he been there. He apologizes for things he has no business apologizing for, and writes how he saw Tiz as a younger brother, and appreciated the honest, down-to-earth relationship that the two of them shared.

 

_ I miss you, _ he writes.

_ Please wake up _ .

 

As he writes how much he would give for the boy to awaken, Ringabel finds himself recalling the shepherd’s features with startling clarity—his amber eyes, silvery, dark-brown hair, tan skin, and the occasional patches of freckles and scars that dotted his face, as well as the sheepish, bashful smile that often graced the boy’s face. It was a smile that he seemed to show most frequently around Agnès,, which Ringabel found endearing—the two of them would make a charming couple, Ringabel thinks, and he writes that if the two of them haven’t gotten together yet, they really ought to. They make each other happy, and in twenty-something years of life, Ringabel has come to acknowledge that as such a rare, precious thing. He hopes the two of them are making the most of it.

Ringabel sucks in a breath as he closes out his letter.

 

_ I know not of whether you are truly asleep or not, but I hope, not only for your sake but for everyone’s, that you are awake and healthy. _

 

_ I do not know when or if I will be returning to you at all, but know that wherever I am in the universe, I still see you as a charming little brother—the best anyone could have. _

 

_ Tiz, my good man, _

_ Au revoir. _

 

_ -Ringabel _

 

Ringabel folds up the paper and slips it into an envelope, which he seals with a spill of wax and the closest thing to a wax stamp that he can find. He’s not sure if the Dimensional Bureau has wax stamps, or, if they did, whether he would be allowed to use them—he ends up merely pressing a pg into the wax and peeling it out once the wax is dry. It’s ugly, but it’ll do, Ringabel supposes. Tiz was never one from grandeur and extravagant flourishes anyway.

He slides the envelope over and begins to write the second letter.


	3. dearest lady agnès

_ To whomever this may concern, _

_ Please see that this letter is delivered safely to Lady Agnès Oblige, opened or unopened. _

_ Thank you. _

 

Ringabel scribbles the short message on the enveloped before he even starts to write the letter, only hoping that it will somehow be read by the vestal, despite how unlikely that might be given her position among the Orthodoxy. He takes out the neatest of the sheets of paper he’s set aside and begins to write, starting it off in the most formal way he knows.

 

_ To Lady Agnès, _

 

At first, he doesn’t really know what to write. At the end of the journey, she trusted him, confided in him, but shes the least close to him out their quartet—Airy had never really trusted him either, but perhaps that was because the servant of Ouroboros knew he was an inconsistency in her plan, and that if let loose, he could ruin everything, which was effectively what he had done—Agnès had eventually been grateful to him for exposing Airy’s true form, and, as she worded it, “bringing them all together”—but he still doesn’t have that much to say to her.

He decides to first ask how her continuation of her role as vestal is going. Have they found other vestals yet? Have the awakened crystals stabilized?

He finds himself able to write only a few questions, knowing that he’ll probably never truly get a direct responses, and then decides not to ask but instead to tell.

 

_ I don’t know if he ever told you, but Tiz was—is—in love with you. _

 

He’s not sure if Tiz is awake after all, so he’s not sure whether to use “is” or “was”—he uses both, and then bites his lip, hoping that the next line won’t hurt too much to read.

 

_ Like a thundaga to the heart. _

_ He would have died for you, and I’m sure he still would. _

 

He writes about the nights that the younger boy spent watching over her when she was too exhausted from awakening crystals to do anything. He writes about the nights that Tiz spent shaking and sobbing because Agnès was resting unconsciously in an Eternian ward, recovering from yet another near-death attack that hit her before anyone else could force their way in between. He writes about the times he would catch Tiz gazing at Agnès in their downtime and smiling at her with a rare softness, a rare appreciation for life and for her.

He writes that, if Agnès is to do him one favor ever again, he would like it to be for her to make Tiz happy.

 

He thanks her for already doing that when she and Tiz are—were?—together, and then admits that he’s not sure what to write, only grateful that she allowed him to travel with her and lead the fourt of them on their journey.

He can’t find any more words, so he writes that down, too, and then one final apology to her.

 

_ Dearest Lady Agnès, _

_ Thank you, and goodbye. _

_ Ringabel _


	4. my darling edea

Ringabel cannot know what to write to Edea—there are simultaneously too many and too little things to write, too many and too little things to say. His grip tightens around his quill and his hand shakes and he doesn’t even know how to start his greeting—can anything he says make up for what he did? How he abandoned her when she needed him most? Will not writing anything only make it worse? There are a million things racing in his mind and he can’t write any of them down—his head hurts and suddenly he’s crying and everything is  _ too much _ .

 

_ My darling Edea, _

_ I love you too much to write anything down—it would hurt too much. I’m sorry. _

_ Love, Ringabel _

 


	5. ballad to hope

It’s after their journey ends, when Agnès and Tiz have returned to Norende and Edea has settled into her new position as Grand Marshal, that Yew sends them a letter and lets them know that he’s found letters Ringabel left for them inside the magic tent. He hadn’t found them until just now, but the younger boy writes that he supposes that Ringabel had left them there when he had eaten dinner with them the night before facing Yōko.  
The four of them meet in Caldisla, where Yew hands them the letters and then departs, having to return to Gathelatio to assist the Matriarch with something at the Sanctum; they bid him farewell and then find themselves a private room at Karl’s Inn to break open the letters.

“When did he write these?” Tiz asks, glancing at the paper. The envelopes are worn, and the edges are slightly yellowed, although that may have just been because they spent so long in the tent. It’s the first time the three of them have met up in a long time; six months since the journey ended, like they had promised after the first journey. Tiz’s hair, still long, is pulled back into a small ponytail at the bottom of his head; it’s a refreshing sight for Agnès and Edea to actually be able to see both of his eyes.  
Agnès wears her hair the same way, but she’s given up her pope garbs, instead opting for a simpler Norende dress; the style suits her, and beside Tiz, back in his shepherds clothing, she looks right at home.  
Edea wears the armor of the Grand Marshal, having taken up the Templar asterisk full-time; the glances she had received from the Caldislan townsfolk while heading to the inn had almost make her double over laughing, but she kept it together for appearances. Even then, she sits with her helmet off, no less comfortable in the Grand Marshal’s armor than anything else.

The three of them break open the seals and take their letters out; they scan them carefully, from top to bottom, and by the time they’re done, there are tears streaming down all three of their faces. Edea sets the letter on the table and buries her face in her hands, trying desperately to wipe away tears that just keep coming—Agnès leans into Tiz’s side and sobs quietly, and he runs his hand through her hair and wraps his other arm around her, trying to stop tears of his own.

Someone knocks on the door. Tiz and Edea nod at each other, and then Tiz shifts with his back to the door to hide Agnès, still crying, as Edea throws on the straightest face she can manage and opens the door.  
The dark knight Alternis Dim stands on the other side.

“Ah, Alternis—what brings you here? Did something happen?”  
“Oh, no—I merely brought a report from the Eisenberg branch of the United Army that Commander Goodman requested I give you. Apologies for interrupting, Lady Marshal.”  
Edea waves her hand. “No, no, it’s okay. Thank you for bringing this. I assume it’s urgent?”  
“Not particularly, no, but I was assuming you would like to have it handled as soon as possible.”  
“You know me well, Alternis,” she says, her breath catching slightly as she laughs. As Alternis hands her the papers, she notices the blue ribbon tied around his wrist.  
An Edea special.  
She pauses for a moment.  
“Thank you, Alternis. You’re so fast with getting me things,” she says softly.  
“Of course, Lady Marshal.” Alternis pauses for a moment, too, and when he speaks again, she notices the roll of a slight Florem accent find its way into his voice. “I would fly to the ends of the earth if you needed me. I’m not one to disappoint a waiting lady.”

She thanks him again, and Alternis shuts the door, walking off.

“Edea—” Tiz starts. “...the ribbon?”  
“I know,” she says, wiping her eyes again. A smile has worked its way onto her face. “So he never really left after all.”


End file.
